


Never Grew Out Of This Feeling

by ashavahishta



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And there's his Leeds wristband, worn and soft and finally torn. Harry runs his fingers over the band, remembers the feel of it on his wrist for so many months. He smiles at the thought of that weekend, how giddy they were, how desperately, stupidly in love he was. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Is. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Grew Out Of This Feeling

2011:

7am:

Harry and Louis wake up when Louis’ phone starts buzzing. His alarm is obnoxious and loud and blaring. They’ve only been asleep four hours.

They’re tangled completely; wrapped up so tight in each others’ bodies that Harry has no idea where he ends and Louis begins.

It’s nice.

Louis nuzzles against Harry’s throat and kisses his cheek and generally makes a nuisance of himself. He sings, "Wake up Harry wake up it’s Leeds day come on time to go!" in Harry’s ear while Harry bats ineffectually at him.

Harry is grinning when he finally opens his eyes and is met with Louis’ sparkling grin. The day ahead of them feels huge and exciting and full of possibility.

It’s Leeds day.

 

2012:

7am:

Harry and Louis sleep on. Their alarm isn’t set for another hour and a half.

They didn’t fall asleep tangled together last night. Louis was tired and his lingering ear infection was bothering him, so he went to bed early. Harry watched the end of ‘Criminal Minds’ and crawled in beside him an hour later. He fit himself carefully against Louis’ back and pressed a goodnight kiss into his hair.

Maybe it’s not the clingy mess of limbs they once were. There was youth in that tangle, something reckless and uncertain and desperate, like if they didn’t hold so tight to each other they might float away.

But Louis’ hand finds Harry’s in sleep and holds it against his chest, gentle and present. They’re tethered. They’re comfortable.

That’s okay.

It’s Leeds day.

(Harry and Louis aren’t going.)

 

2011:

9am:

They’ve been on the road for half an hour and Louis is already complaining of boredom.

Louis isn’t a very patient person.

He made Harry pull over for bacon sandwiches and the car smells like it, like grease and cheese and salt. The sun is coming up and it catches in Louis’ caramel-soft hair, glints off his bright blue eyes. Harry smiles at him from the driver’s seat.

He’s so in love it hurts.

 

2012:

9am:

Harry makes eggs while Louis tries not to fall back asleep into his cup of tea. Harry complains because they’ve just moved into this house and he doesn’t know how the stove’s heat settings work. His pan gets sticky egg burned into the edges. Louis makes agreeable murmuring noises and sips his tea.

Harry passes Louis his plate and sits down beside him. Louis turns to press a kiss to Harry’s shoulder and says, "Thanks, love."

2011:

11am:

It takes them 45 minutes to set up their tent. Neither of them have ever camped in their lives and even though they’ve only been ‘famous’ for a few months, maybe they’re getting too used to letting other people do stuff for them.

It doesn’t really matter. The sun is bright and so is Louis’ laugh when Harry keeps tripping over the stupid ropes. There’s a low thump of noise coming from each of the stages nearby, a sound that will work into their veins over the next day.

They’re both drinking beer and Louis spills it in his own excitement when the tent is finally complete. He jumps around, crows about how manly and strong and clever they are. The beer slops down his shirt and Harry nearly keels over laughing at him. It’s not that funny but Harry’s excited and excitable, wants to jump out of his skin with how happy he is to be here.

They crawl inside their little tent, and it’s warm and dim and close. Louis grins and whispers, "Alone at last," and tackles Harry onto his back.

Harry winds his fingers through Louis’ hair and looks up at him with warm open eyes (you show so much in your eyes, Harry, his mum always says) and says,  "Kiss me, you fool."

Louis does.

 

2012:

11am:

They're getting ready to go out, separately. Louis, following orders from above, is to be seen out with Eleanor today. Harry, mostly in order to distract himself from this, is going out with Nick and his friends.

They don't mind, not really. It would be nice, Harry thinks, to be able to spend all day together, but they still have time. They got to wake up together, eat breakfast together, and they'll come home to each other tonight. They'll text through the day, too.

It's good for them, to have friends outside of their close-knit little world, to not spend every second of every day together. It's healthy.

While they get dressed together in their bedroom, Harry has a small fit of nostalgia. He finds the small black box which lives in his sock drawer, removes the lid and carefully sorts through its contents. There's the little slip of paper with Louis' phone number on it, from the day they met in a bathroom two years ago. There's the black promise ring Louis gave to him on Valentine's Day. And there's his Leeds wristband, worn and soft and finally torn.

Harry runs his fingers over the band, remembers the feel of it on his wrist for so many months. He smiles at the thought of that weekend, how giddy they were, how desperately, stupidly in love he was.

Is.

Louis' hands rest on his waist from behind and his chin hooks over Harry's shoulder. "Sentimental," he says fondly.

Harry puts the wristband away and shuts the drawer. "Yeah," he turns his head to peck Louis on the lips, the kind of wordless affection they've grown into over time.

(Why would they need to say "I love you" aloud when they can say it with lips and eyes and hands?)

Harry smiles when he turns around to face Louis. "You're wearing my shirt."

Louis glances down at the blue tee Harry had slept in last night. "Smells like you," he says with an answering smile. He reaches up and tugs at the grey beanie Harry had just put on. It comes loose and Louis pulls it over his own head, saying, "So does this." Then he puts his hands in Harry's curls and rearranges them carefully. Harry's eyes fall shut at the feeling of Louis' fingers in his hair, nearly purring when Louis scratches his head gently. Louis giggles and kisses Harry's jaw, murmurs, "Such a little kitten, babe."

Harry's eyes blink open and he meows just to make Louis laugh, his eyes crinkling.

 

They kiss goodbye at the front door, slow and lazy with Louis' fingers curled around Harry's left wrist, where the Leeds band has been replaced with inked words and a tiny, lopsided padlock. "Because I'm locked in to you," he'd said. Louis had laughed and called him a sappy bastard. It didn't stop him from rubbing lotion into the tattoo twice a day, from kissing it gently when they were in bed together.

(Louis covers himself in Harry's clothes and Harry covers himself in Louis' ink.)

(They both write love on their skin in less permanent ways; bruises and finger-marks, love bites. Today there's a hickey on Louis' hip and bruise on Harry's bicep.)

(It doesn't matter that they're out with other people, it doesn't matter because they're still with each other. Always.)

 

2011:

2pm:

They make a few friends in the crowd and end up sprawling in the grass with them, eating and chatting and laughing. Louis tells stories and jokes until he’s got everyone howling, his boundless energy making everything around him seem to shine. Harry sits with his head rested comfortably on Louis’ shoulder and laughs until he cries.

(He hopes he’ll never forget that even though they’re something new and exciting and intense now, they’re still best friends first.)

 

2012:

2pm:

Harry is with Nick.

Louis is with Eleanor.

It’s not ideal.

It’s not a disaster, either. They’ve been through a lot of crap this year - secrets and lies and sneaking around, forced separation, hiding hiding hiding. Maybe it could have broken them apart, left them scattered and torn and scared. It hasn’t. They’ve grown stronger with each hit, stood taller every time they’re knocked down. All this year has done, for Harry, is solidified what Louis means to him and what he’s willing to go through for their relationship.

(The answer is: anything.)

They’re strong, they’re _so strong_ and they’re not letting the battle they’re fighting defeat them.

(Anything could happen in the future. Harry is okay with waiting, as long as he has Louis by his side.)

 

2011:

8pm:

They eat fish and chips and drink beer and meet fans, beam smiles at camera lenses. They pack into the crowd just like everyone else, bounce and jump and sing and lose their voices and hearing at the same time.

It's hot and loud and Harry has about seven different people pressing up against him, and he can feel the bass in the ground beneath his feet, thumping up into his veins and his bones.

When the sun goes down it gets chilly so Harry gives Louis his puffy green jacket to wear. They already swapped sunglasses halfway through the day, because Harry decided he liked Louis' aviators better and handed over his own Raybans instead. He likes that, seeing his own clothes on Louis. It reminds him of the little voice behind his ribs that chants _mine, mine_ when he looks at Louis. He hopes Louis thinks the same.

Harry thinks maybe he'd like to belong to Louis.

(Harry thinks maybe he already does.)

When it starts to get late they wander the campsite, vaguely headed toward their tent but mostly people watching. Harry can't stop looking at Louis and he wants, wants, wants. Wants to kiss him, slide his hands under Louis' shirt and nuzzle the skin at the base of his throat, wants to lick over the curve of his hips, wants to bite his inner thighs, wants to hear Louis moan and whimper and curse for him.

It's dark out. Harry risks grabbing for Louis' hand and their fingers tangle together as they find their way to their tent.

As soon as the zip-door is closed, Harry pretty much tackles Louis. Louis rolls with it, laughing, and then they're kissing wet and messy, tongues sliding against each other as Harry fumbles to pull Louis out of his own jacket. They manage to get rid of jackets and shirts and then Louis flips them so he's lying on top of Harry and their bare chests are sliding together.

Harry runs his hands up and down Louis' back and bares his neck for Louis to kiss and lick at. They're both breathing too hard and Harry's frantic, sparking hot under his skin. He wants too much too fast, wants it all now now now and Louis is his whole world, Louis' mouth and his hands and his smell and his voice. Harry's hips roll up and Louis' roll down, his mouth still attached to Harry's neck and Harry's so hard his head is spinning.

His fingers dig into Louis' ass through his jeans and he pulls him closer, as close as he can possibly get. They rut against each other, artless and desperate, the friction and heat between them just this side of too much. Louis finally abandons Harry's neck and he plants his hands on either side of Harry's head, uses them for leverage as he thrusts his hips down into Harry's. Their cocks rub together on each hot, dirty slide and Harry is moaning, too loud and unashamed. Louis' face is red and he's sweating, and he leans down to lick into Harry's open mouth and Harry comes in his jeans, comes so hard he shudders and whines. Louis keeps kissing him and Harry squeezes his ass again, fights to get his hand down the back of Louis' jeans teases at Louis' hole with one finger. Louis yelps and comes instantly, burying his face in Harry's neck as his hips jerk roughly.

They don't sleep that night. They're too high on each other, too intent on getting each other off as much and as often as possible. Harry loses count of how many times he comes, with Louis' mouth on his dick or Louis' fingers in his ass or Louis' body tight and hot around his cock. He feels like an addict, and his drug is Louis' skin and the sound he makes when he comes, and how his body feels under Harry's hands, and how he murmurs these hot little encouragements against Harry's mouth when they kiss.

Harry's burning, burning, burning, and he's taking as much of this as he can before he burns out.

 

2012:

8pm:

Harry brings home fish and chips and they eat on a blanket on their living room floor with Harry's ipod blaring, pretend they're sitting on grass surrounded by people. When they're done, Harry scrunches up the greasy paper and goes into the kitchen to open two bottles of beer. Louis turns up the music and grabs a bottle from Harry's hand, taking a long pull and tugging Harry toward him.

They dance right there in their living room, laughing and breathless and warm. Louis slips in close and turns his face into Harry's neck (Harry's the perfect height for this and Louis loves it, loves how he can tuck into that special place like it was made for him). He presses beer-sticky lips to Harry's skin and giggles a happy, "Do you remember -"

Does Harry remember - their first kiss, nervous and achingly sweet. Does Harry remember - the first time they said they loved each other, a whispered confession and smiles in the darkness. Does Harry remember - the day they got the keys to their flat, the endless promise of the cold metal digging into his palm. Does Harry remember - their dates in beautiful restaurants all over the world, touching thighs under the table and letting their hands brush. Does Harry remember - countless moments on stage, whispered flirtations, smiles and secret touches, silent declarations of love and affection. Does Harry remember - the first time he got a tattoo for Louis, and the second, and the third and the fourth. Does Harry remember - every kiss and every touch and every word, every smile, every soft gaze, every time he felt like he would burst, just brim over from all the love inside him.

Harry remembers.

The ipod switches over to something slow and soft and aching and they melt into each other easy as breathing, Harry pulling Louis in closer and wrapping strong arms around his narrow waist. Louis rests his head on Harry's shoulder and his hands on Harry's back and they press together from head to toe, bleed warmth into each other until Harry feels like they're one being, with one heartbeat and one breath and one soul. He closes his eyes and says _I love you_  with the way his thumb strokes against Louis' side, and Louis says, _Love you too_  with his mouth pressed to Harry's neck, and Louis says _Don't let me go_  with his arms tightening around Harry's waist, and Harry says _Never_ with his hand rubbing circles in Louis' back.

Later, they’ll spread out on the blanket and take their time with each other, trade kisses and touches for long minutes before they finally undress. They’ll fuck slow and intense, Louis keeping Harry’s wrists pinned to the floor as he moves deep inside him. They’ll lock eyes and Harry’s hips will rock in time with Louis’ thrusts, and Louis will lower his head to fit their mouths together as their movements turn fast and urgent.

When he comes, Louis’ hands will slide up from Harry’s wrists to intertwine their fingers, holding tight, and Harry will gasp into Louis’ mouth and follow him over the edge a moment later.

Louis will pull the blanket up around them and doze on Harry’s chest with Harry’s fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

Harry will think he would’ve liked to go to Leeds today, but he got this instead and he wouldn’t trade it, not for a moment.

 

 

2013:

11am:

Everybody goes to Leeds this year.

DaniandLiam and ZaynandPerrie and DemiandNiall and HarryandLouis, they’re all there.

(Harry and Louis have been HarryandLouis publicly for a few months. It’s difficult and sometimes painful and they’re stupidly, ridiculously happy.)

They split off into couples as they explore the grounds, checking out which stages they’ll need to go to later, making sure their tents are set up for tonight. Harry and Louis swing their hands together as they walk, enjoy the sun on their faces and tune out the sounds of camera-phones going off as they pass. They stop for the first band they recognise and dance together for awhile, laughing at each other when they immediately start sweating in the increasing heat. Louis ends up emptying a bottle of water over Harry’s head and his curls go limp and soaking. He shakes his head out like a dog and Louis grins at him, leaning in to to lick a droplet of water from Harry’s collarbone.

1pm:

Their entire group spreads out on the grass near the main stage, a mess of blankets and food and sprawling limbs. It’s getting hotter by the minute and the girls are stripped to short-shorts and tank tops, their slender legs stretched out to rest dainty sandal-clad feet in their boyfriends’ laps. Liam hands out sandwiches while Demi tells a story from her last tour, her hands gesturing expressively. She laughs loud and honest as she talks and Niall can’t seem to help leaning in to kiss her, his hand curling around her hip. Zayn and Danielle are chattering away about the new Drake album, and Louis is trying to talk them all into starting a water balloon fight later.

Harry half-dozes, lazy in the sun like a happy cat. He lays on his back, long limbs sprawled everywhere with his arms crossed over his chest and his head in Louis’ lap. His eyes are closed against the sun and Louis’ hand rests in his curls, petting absently as he talks to the others.

(It’s times like this that Harry forgets he’s supposed to be some big international superstar, with expectations and responsibilities and commitments. It’s times like this that Harry feels like a normal teenager who can go to music festivals and lay in the sun with his boyfriend and his best friends and just revel in a simple kind of happiness.)

3pm:

The heat becomes nearly unbearable. Liam, Harry and Niall all strip off their shirts. Niall throws his sweat-soaked one in Demi’s direction and she shrieks and tackles him into the grass. That’s the best thing about Demi - she gives as good as she gets, and Niall’s never, ever bored when he’s with her.

Harry stuffs his shirt in his back pocket and wanders around in just shorts and Converse, all bare skin and tattoos. (He has over a dozen now. At least half of them are for Louis.) He pretends to have forgotten the lovebites on his collarbone and hips, but the truth is he’s thrilled to be showing off. He can feel the cameras on him and he wants them all to see. _Louis was here_ , the marks scream. Harry loves it.

8pm:

The sun is setting and the heat has dropped off considerably. Harry’s shirt is back on.

Ed is playing.

Louis stands in front of Harry and leans back into him, his back fitting perfectly against Harry's chest. Harry’s arms sneak around his waist as Ed sings _cover me up, cuddle me in_. Louis’ hands rest on Harry’s forearms and they sway together, and Harry wraps him up close as Ed sings _hold me in your arms._ Louis' eyes fall closed, a blissful smile spreading over his face.

Harry ducks down to press tender kisses to Louis’ neck, his ear, his jaw, his cheek. Ed sings _kiss me like you wanna be loved, wanna be loved_. Louis turns his head and murmurs _kiss me_ against Harry's mouth.

Harry does, and Louis’ hands curl tighter around Harry’s arms as they sway gently in time with the song, kissing softly and blocking out the rest of the world.

The sunset bathes them in warm golden light, dustmotes floating lazily above their heads. Louis breaks the kiss only to smile, his eyes crinkled. Harry's eyes are half-lidded, his dimple showing as he smiles back and nuzzles their noses together sweetly.

Louis kisses him again.

Ed sings,

_This feels like I’ve fallen in love._  
  



End file.
